


Psyche-Lock

by NightmareWolf



Series: EW Highschool AU [2]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, Headcanon, very mysteriousssss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16554539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareWolf/pseuds/NightmareWolf
Summary: When it really came down to it, Edd knew nothing about Tord.





	Psyche-Lock

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhh i have many highschool AU headcanons

It's a little odd.

Despite Tord's closest—perhaps only—friend, the two rarely get one-on-one time like this together. Tord was such a quiet kid, and Edd didn't blame him. Being an exchange student with a limited grasp on English, of  _course_ he'd be hesitant to talk. It's a wonder how the two even met in the first place. Trying to recall, Edd couldn't even remember. It probably had something to do with art, since the two both have a passion for drawing, but the past doesn't matter. What matters is by some eldritch chance, they became friends, even if it sometimes felt they were the farthest from that.

Edd watched each stroke Tord made with one of his borrowed pencils; he ignored his own drawing completely as he sat in content silence with Tord, watching the other sketch out some anime chick. That was the nice thing about Tord—the silence. Sure, Edd loved his friends, but Tom and Matt were undoubtedly chatty. Sometimes it's nice to only speak if necessary. Plus, it's also nice to have another artist as a friend. Yeah, sure, Matt can draw too, but he doesn't really care for it, opting to do other shenanigans instead. Maybe Tord wasn't the best artist ever, but there was a clear devotion and passion in what he did—that's why Edd valued his work a little more.

A quiet sigh escaped passed Edd's lips as he twirled his own pencil in his hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on his own drawing as the soft, quiet noise of some TV channel echoed on in the background. Yet, even when he tried as hard as he could, he couldn't focus. Really, the only thing he could focus on was Tord. Well, perhaps more on what Tord was  _drawing_. The Norwegian had this indescribable look as he sketched out what Edd could now see as a little girl. Even with only a grey scale color pallet and the sharp lead of a pencil at his disposable, Tord was able to convey a feeling of softness in the drawing. Her eyes were pale and lacking depth as her face looked smooth and soft, bundled with an innocent smile. Tord himself didn't look focused or determined on this drawing—but Edd wouldn't call it a lack of passion. There certainly was some driving force, some sort of emotion...yet, Tord's eyes were so flat it was hard to tell what he was feeling.

"Who's the girl?" Edd couldn't help but ask. He took his sketchpad and pencil off his lap and tossed them aside next to him, the pencil rolling off the pad. He lowered his head down to Tord, whom was lying on his stomach as he drew, trying to get a better read on his expression.

Tord didn't answer.

Edd waited a second, and then several seconds, for an answer. But, Tord never spoke. Had he not heard him?

"Who's the—"

"Stop." Tord shut the sketchbook and dropped his pencil.

"Oh. Sorry," Edd instinctively mumbled. Typically nobody heard the insane amount of times he apologized, as he was so quiet doing so, but this time it was water dripping in a silent enclosed space. Ear shattering.

From there it was silent again, only this time more so awkward than relaxing. The two were looking down, seemingly neither of them knowing what to say. Edd wondered if he brought something personal up indirectly. But that wasn't  _his_ fault, was it? Even if not, he almost felt bad about it.

Almost.

"You know, Tord," Edd spoke up, but admittedly cringed at the sound of his own voice against the piercing silence. "How long has it been since we've been alone like this?"

"Uhm," Tord thought for several seconds. "I do not know. I can no recall the previous time we were alone."

Despite Tord's... _interesting_ way of saying it, it seemed he also didn't know the last time things were like this. Maybe Edd shouldn't be too shocked; they were always in a group of four, anyway. There was really no need to be alone like this, like they were. And yet, Edd found a strange comfort in it. Almost like him and Tord had some deep understanding that even Edd wasn't aware of. Was that odd to say?

Yet despite that psychological link he felt, there seemed to be a lock. Like, there was something—perhaps a lot—he didn't know about Tord yet.

Maybe something to do with that girl?

Tord was kind of mysterious. After all, Edd had never been to his house. Tord never mentioned his family or home life, he never mentioned how it was to live in Norway and Edd barely knew anything about the guy when it came down to it. For all he knows, the "Tord" he's familiar with could just be some radical facade of a character. But everyone has their fair share of secrets, Edd wasn't exempted from this. It sucked, knowing there are things he has to keep locked down inside himself, never to let anyone else know. But, it's just how the world works.

Then, something warm grasped his hand.

Edd looked down, seeing that Tord had grabbed his hand and intertwined it with his own. However, it didn't look like it was out of any affectionate intention—not even any platonic one—more like how a scared child hold the hand of their mom. The sudden contact did surprise Edd, seeing how Tord was a very "hands off" person, and admittedly it even made his cheeks a few pigments redder (thank God for his overly large bangs). But the question would then arise: why?

Edd didn't speak. He'd let Tord do the talking. Obviously, he wouldn't do something like this without a reason. It was redundant to ask.

"Edward," he spoke quietly, gently lifting himself up to sit in the same position as Edd. "I need to be honest."

_Is that his way of telling me he has something to say?_

"Er...okay? What's this all about?" Edd instinctively chuckled nervously, keeping a firm grasp on Tord's hand, trying to hide how nervous he was feeling. Then again, if he was nervous, Tord must be having a breakdown.

"Please, do not told Thomas or Matthew. I trust only you. Neither of us can live if you said a thing, okay?"

"N-Neither?" Edd wasn't sure if it were Tord's poor English skills at play, a hyperbole, or if it concerns something actually that important. The thought of being told something so weighty—it was exciting, but boosted his anxiety tenfold.

Edd watched carefully as Tord used his free hand to grab the abandoned sketchpad on the ground; As he lifted it up onto his lap, he let out a shaky sigh. The pressure in their hand's embrace increased—but only slightly. Tord had that flat expression again; and expression that conveyed so many feelings that they almost cancelled out, leaving just a blank stare. But, in a way, this stare was different. As if, with the knowledge of what he would do next, Tord seemed almost relieved. Like a weight had been lifted; a lock had been broken.

"It is about something I did long time ago."

 


End file.
